


And The Stars Make Love To The Universe

by andyouknowitis



Series: The 'And...' Series [2]
Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:11:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andyouknowitis/pseuds/andyouknowitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Clothes meet the ground like whispers. Skin and him and them. He knows him as no one else does. Heart and smirk and smile and show. He knows every tan line and every hidden freckle. Every curve and angle. The feeling of his laughter against him and the tension threaded tiredness of weary days. He knows when he’s lost a pound too many, as his fingers worry with love beneath a rib. He knows the shadows of lost sleep, under eyes bright on his. He knows the tickle skimmed below a hip that draws a breathless protest mixed with laughter. He knows the sound of how he comes and he knows the weight of his cock safe within his palm. He knows him. Each and every particle, this beautiful arrangement of atoms, this man that shines beneath his fingertips. He knows. And so he speaks, heart hitching as his breathing does.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Stars Make Love To The Universe

It doesn’t burn out.

It’s not the rush, or the flare, or the heat born of being apart of hours into days or more. They’ve had too much practice at that.

It’s a steady presence. A hum of light that’s always there, made more when they’re together. After a long day of going through the required motions, walking the needed paths, moving pieces in this world that’s been built around them, there is a need for this, a quiet moment.

Gone are the days when they could share a room without compunction, but gone too are those who would dare question when a bed remains unslept in. Doors are closed on those who ask too much, hearts opened in the freedom of another strange room, in a new place.

They don’t even need the words, as they step close and just hold on for that moment, theirs, although he murmurs them anyway, soft and familiar against hair that’s grown too long, lips brushed against the now ubiquitous headband. All he hears is the word “Now” against his collarbone and he answers yes with his mouth, with his hands, in the lift of limbs as he hitches him up, tight against him, and carries him to the bed. Just Louis in his arms.

They tumble back, mouths met, soft, so soft, barely there lips and grazes of their fingers. More than burn or blaze, this flash against the darkness. It’s warm and bright and constant. He wonders that people don’t see, perhaps they are blinded by the sun, and that mirror, reflecting and distorting all the things they claim to show. That this combination is always there, perhaps sometimes obscured by clouds, or vision dimmed, or the place in which you stand, but it’s always there, visible from certain angles, by those who know what they are seeing, even from a distance, an eye to the telescope.

Clothes meet the ground like whispers. Skin and him and them. He knows him as no one else does. Heart and smirk and smile and show. He knows every tan line and every hidden freckle. Every curve and angle. The feeling of his laughter against him and the tension threaded tiredness of weary days. He knows when he’s lost a pound too many, as his fingers worry with love beneath a rib. He knows the shadows of lost sleep, under eyes bright on his. He knows the tickle skimmed below a hip that draws a breathless protest mixed with laughter. He knows the sound of how he comes and he knows the weight of his cock safe within his palm. He knows him. Each and every particle, this beautiful arrangement of atoms, this man that shines beneath his fingertips. He knows. And so he speaks, heart hitching as his breathing does.

“I need to be inside you.”

“I know you do. I know.”

Muffled scrapes on sensitive skin as he leans across to the night stand, hands skimming the tube, damping himself and his palms liberally, getting them ready, so ready. They don’t often do it this way. He prefers the be the one taking, and Louis’ so good at holding him close, at making him feel safe, at making him feel…just feel. But sometimes, like tonight, he just wants to give. To be held close in every element and part of him. He wants to give him everything he is, pour every spark of himself into another. His other. His constant.

So he angles one of his legs up and shifts his hips just so to make him comfortable, and then slides a finger inside, drawn out minutes, easing him slowly to take more, tight and heat, and soothing circles. He gives him long, slow, lazy kisses as he makes him ready for him. Taking the time. A little more. His skin feels like fire that doesn’t burn, but heals, as he feels the stutter of his heart beneath his lips upon his chest.

There’s the scrape and hum of teeth and tongue. The soft, sharp tug of a nipple against his mouth, the skin below his ribcage breathed in and held, marks made like they are love words on un-inked skin. A damp tongue across his navel, a lazy lick across the tip and down the base of that beautiful cock, the brush of his mouth against his balls, a kiss lower still as he rims him a little and there’s all the scent and the feel and the life of him. And then he’s moving his way up again. A nip on the skin above his elbow, a brush of fingertips on that spot below his left shoulder blade that he knows can almost bring him to the edge of coming from touch alone. The lazy, lust-hazed smile that he just has to kiss from the right corner of his mouth. It’s all in here. In this precious fingersnap of time before dawn arrives again. He sends thanks out into he knows not where, to all the things he’s unsure of to believe in. He just knows that this, him, them, is a living thing. The breathing pages of a book, a map, parts explored, and places charted. That he found him, so soon, scares him and completes him all at once. That he found this. Just this.

“Now Harry..please..” He feels his lips against him rather than hears him, so caught is he in this moment. “Baby you have to fuck me now  _pleasenowplease._..”

“I know love..I know..I’m here…I’m right here.” His own answer a whisper and a need against his neck as he makes sure they’re both ready, and he can’t help teasing him with the end of his cock a little, just a little, until he has him gasping, then he’s there, and it’s a hot, hard heat around him as Louis chokes out a sexy little moan that makes him feel even harder than he already is, all of it making incoherent words tumble from his mouth at Harry's neck. “Ohfuckohgodyouresofuckinghotsosexyyoureso..so..” 

He makes himself breathe again and takes it slowly, so slowly, and has to work his hips a notch, a little at a time, before they’re met, skin and muscle and bone. For a moment he’s still. Just feeling. Gripped in this fusion of their cores, this energy. 

_So much. Too much. Not enough._

“Fuck Jesus fuck, Lou..you’re so tight…it’s too good, you’re too good, you’re fuck..fuck…” He tries to steady his breathing, lifts his head to look into eyes gone navy like the night sky. He can barely make words. He manages a whisper. “Is this okay?”

A brief nod and he feels him breathe deeply against him as he just holds him there, eyes on his, until he feels the subtle shift as he relaxes around him. Then it’s light falling on flushed cheeks, shallow breathing and staccato words. “So good. Feel you. You feel so. Just need you to. Need you to just. I need you..”

His hands feel unsteady as he slips them beneath his hips, breath mingling with sweat, as he tilts his own hips a little, slides closer. “There baby.. _fuck._.this is..you’re…” A kiss across eyelids now fluttered shut. “Is that good baby..is that good..do you feel me..is that what you want…there?” Another kiss. “There?”

A sigh against his shoulder. “There.”

He rolls his hips experimentally. And again. On and on until he hears that hitch in his breathing. And he knows that now he’s making him see stars. He feels it in the way he grips his arms, a thread of fingers tangled through curls, in the way he’s straining, arching against him like he can’t be close enough, before the soft slide and slip of his hands against his back and the press of his heel against his spine, pulling himself into the penetration.

He feels turned on beyond reason that he’s the one who can make him feel like this. Pushing his knees up just a bit further with a little grunt in his throat. He feels him take him deeper as soft cries start to spill from that sexy mouth. And he doesn’t care who hears them. He kisses him then, with an almost edge of keen desperation, to let him know how amazing he feels, how fucking perfect he is. He finds familiar patches of skin, traces his fingers like echoes. Finds that tender spot at the base of his balls that drives him crazy. Presses softly with his thumb, a soft rub on tender skin until they’re falling  _up, up, up._

It feels almost bright enough to be blinding. They’re more than two single stars, shining against the darkness. They’re a constellation. And a world is caught in their orbit. And for a minute all he can see is scattered starlight, hitting every patch of their world, lighting up memories of all the times they’ve been together. Every frantically furtive fuck in not quiet enough back rooms, every lazy fourth day of lying low lovemaking in their unmade bed, every sloppy handjob and inexpert blowjob, all their first times, from the early days, when one would come too soon and they’d laugh and complain and they had so much to learn about each other, to finding the familiar rhythms and quirks and kinks and knowing how the other likes it best. From the first time to the last time, this constellation, spread across their own private universe.

And then sometimes, just sometimes, it’s like this. So much attuned to each other that he knows they’re both close, so close, and he wants to dazzle him and fall into him and love him and do it all at once.

He’s barely conscious as the speed of his hips increases, this slam of sweat drenched flesh on flesh. It’s wet and messy and beautiful and real. He feels Louis’ hand slip between them to grasp his own cock, as Harry moves within him, a moan on his lips as his head strains back into the pillows, the cords in his neck gone taut. He feels those muscles clench around him so tightly he feels dizzy, until all too soon he feels the damp spill of Louis’ come between them. So hot. So good.

He’s trying to stay still, to give him a minute. He makes a conscious effort to breathe again. To just feel the comfort of skin on skin. They take a moment and then before he knows it Louis is whispering  _dirtyprettythings_  in his ear about how good his cock feels and how he’s the best fuck ever and how big he is and how he wants to feel his come inside him, and then he’s gone. It’s like spinning. He feels like he’s hurtling past the speed of light and there’s never been anything brighter than this. A supernova exploding into stardust.

*

They lie there longer than they usually do. And he doesn’t want to move even though he knows he has to.

The world around them comes back into focus and he becomes aware of the noise filtering in from outside. The fans that have been there hours now and he hopes that they can get some sleep and that they all can get some sleep. He knows they both need to get up and take a shower. To set alarms, out of habit, even with the wake-up calls, to settle themselves ready for the long day ahead. Finally with a groan of effort he eases himself away and rolls onto his back. Even then, loathe to lose contact completely, he slips his hand down his side between them so that their fingers tangle and hold on.

They’re silent for a moment until Louis’ lazy chuckle reaches his ears. “Another one crossed off the list then.”

The laugh rumbles through him softly. The silly little game, started an aeon ago, just because they could, wondering if they could do it in every country in the world. “Yup.”

He feels Louis lift their joined hands to his lips, before pressing a kiss there. And then he’s moving, bounding up, naked arse and mussed hair retreating towards the en suite and he lays there listening as the water is turned on and the familiar lament of a hissed curse at too hot water that he never gets quite right first try. “Ah fuck fucking stupid wanker hotel showers.”

He grins, his mind drifting like he’s floating through space and he laughs softly at himself. All that waxing lyrical about stars and shine. Louis does strange and beautiful things to his mind.

_Stardust._

He smiles at that. At the memory of a long ago late summer night when they first started living together, snuggled close on the sofa and a film on the tv. And he remembers.

_No man can live forever except he who possesses the heart of a star._

And then he smiles again. He flicks a glance towards the bathroom and the soft singing he can now hear of a man who will surely live forever. And he knows he’s not the only one.

For Louis had given Harry his heart completely.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I feel about Louis and Harry is on the page in 'And The Stars Make Love To The Universe.' It’s set on the night of the day they arrive in Colombia, April 24th 2014, the day before the WWAT begins. I identify a great deal with Harry, and so I took a step into his perspective, and I hope I found some truth there. I wrote it surrounded by art students who were working on their final year projects, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could paint a story with words. Neil Gaiman is my favourite writer and thus I’d been wanting to do something on the Stardust theme for a while. I also incorporated the themes from the lyrics of 'Don’t Let Me Go' and 'Through The Dark.' This combined with my fascination with astronomy and how it relates to us, with a particular allusion to alpha andromedae and the rainbow worlds, ended up in this.


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